The Walk
by SilverRiv
Summary: One-shot. AU after the Battle. Dramione.
_A/N: Hi, everyone. This is a very short, very tiny one-shot, that will stay a one-shot. No begging. It's beautiful as it is._

 _I do not own Draco or any of the HP franchise. J.K., you are one lucky gal._

 _Review, please, would be lovely of you._

* * *

The walk

They walked, hand in hand, towards the snowy stones. It was a grey, dull day, filled only with silently falling snowflakes. Her small hand in his felt comfortable, warm. It was just like in the old days. But nothing was the same any more.

Draco looked at the girl at his side. The bushy hair, the amber eyes, they reminded him so much of their last year where they'd walked just like that, hand in hand, towards the graveyard. Only back then they were visiting someone else.

They were both silent, deep in thoughts. The Death Eaters _still_ at large had finally grouped together last year and gone on the offensive. Without Voldemort leading them at first they were in disarray, easy to overpower, but dangerous nonetheless. Over the time they'd especially gotten clever in lightning-fast ambushes and disapparating as soon as the deed was done. No lingering, no mocking, no nonsense. There seemed to be someone now controlling the few factions left. Someone cunning, smart and ruthless, a Voldemort 2.0. No one knew who it might be, not even Draco had any plausible ideas.

When the first attacks had started he'd thought they'd be caught in no time. But as time passed and the number of victims only continued to grow without any of the culprits being caught, his confidence in the newly-appointed Minister and the Aurors Pothead and Weasel-bee had flagged quite a notch downwards. Hermione'd always told him to leave them be and that they were all doing everything they could in the Ministry. He should not have listened to her. He should have pressed for his own agenda as hard as he could.

Months had passed with no leads to the whereabouts of any of the Death Eaters, nor any indications of who could be the next victim. The attacks were not concentrated on any one group of witches or wizards. Rather, anyone could have been next. Purebloods as well as Muggle-borns were being targeted, in no apparent order. It didn't make any sense, which lead to even more confusion in the investigation. There was no telling when or where the next murder would happen, or to whom.

Sometimes people disappeared in the broad daylight right in front of their friends or families, and nothing they did could bring them back. It was as if an invisible black hole had swallowed them, only to spit them back out a few days later, miles away from the last spot they had been seen. Sometimes mutilated, sometimes obviously tortured, sometimes looking as if they were merely sleeping. But every time most certainly dead, with their broken wand left beside them.

Other times they were attacked in the middle of the night, one quick spell, and it was done. They always made sure to break their wands and place them beside the body, if time allowed. If not, the attackers simply vanished.

Even their best spell-casters couldn't manage to locate the dark wizards' hideouts. None of the spells they came up with seemed to work, not even Hermione's extensive knowledge of old, nearly forgotten ones. She had become ever more haggard with the sleepless nights spent poring over the ancient tomes sent in from every corner of the world. Draco well remembered how she'd been on edge and skittish each time he'd tried to talk to her beloved one, to convince her to get some sleep. _No, just that one more chapter, please, Draco,_ that had been her favourite answer. _There are people dying! How can you expect me to sleep knowing they could attack anyone at any given moment?_ at other times. There was no arguing with her, he'd learned slowly and sometimes painfully.

He sighed, a deep, mournful, filled with unshed tears and shattered futures kind of sigh.

"What's wrong, daddy?" asked the little girl, looking up at him.

Draco stared down at the impossibly beautiful face. At everything that Granger had been, except for the icy blonde, rather than auburn, hair. Every breath felt like frozen knives in his breast, and yet, the small flame of warmth was still there, right in the deepest part of his heart. The flame only kept alive by this tiny human being holding his hand.

"Nothing, sweetie, don't worry. Now say hello to your mum," he said, almost choking on the last words. His eyes fell onto the tombstone they'd finally reached.

 _ **Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy**_

 _Without you, there is no us._

 _Without you, there is no me._

 _Without you, we must continue..._

 _1979-2007_

The lone tear continued to roll.


End file.
